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“I’ll stay with you.”
“No,” he replied. “Not for this.”
She didn’t need him to explain. Sometimes, it was unbearable to have a witness to your greatest shames. He would be forced to smile and nod, all while the designs he’d made for his own future vanished into thin air. Ren would want to face that alone too.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
No one noticed her leave. Down a floor, she found royal cousins seated, laughing loudly at the far end of the table. Merchants with deep pockets discussed politics and shipping routes and trade goods. Ren hadn’t thought about the fact that the other tables might still be dining. It made her feel even more out of place. She located a corner seat at the table and claimed it without a word.
The elderly woman on her right was little more than bones. An elegant bracelet of jewels dangled from one sparrow-thin wrist. She swirled her wine, inhaled the scent, and turned to Ren as if they’d been in conversation the whole time.
“As I was saying, it’s all that anyone is talking about. Can you imagine? Dead for nearly ten years and suddenly the name just—pops—back up. The Broods pretend not to be concerned, but I have found that even the city’s elite have a healthy fear of ghosts. No doubt they’re wondering how he survived.”
Ren sipped her drink to cover any confusion in her expression. What was the woman talking about? Her confidant grinned, a flash of wine-stained teeth, before plunging into a conversation Ren assumed she’d been having with someone else. Likely someone who looked vaguely like her. It became clear that the woman had been drinking for some time now.
“Dahvid Tin’Vori.” The woman said that name, then shushed Ren as if she had been the one to speak it aloud. “I know, I know. Don’t say the name. Never fear. Thugar Brood is a floor above us. I have no doubt he’s flirting with everyone except for his own wife.”
Ren nearly spat out her drink. She knew there were factions and divisions amongst the upper class. Houses that naturally opposed one another. Minor houses striving to be more. Merchants who disdained the whole system, having succeeded on hard work instead of inherited pedigree. But she’d forgotten there were some who were bold enough to make fun of an heir so publicly. She supposed wine and old age were natural encouragements toward bluntness.
“Remind me,” Ren said. “What happened?”
The name Tin’Vori sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d read it. One too many drinks had dulled her own senses. The old crone’s eyes narrowed with delight.
“I told you. It was quite the scandal. Ten years ago…”
Before Ren had enrolled at Balmerick. Well before she’d have been in a position to hear the rumblings of the city’s elite. She leaned in to hear the next part of the story.
“It started with the oldest brother, Ware Tin’Vori. He made the mistake of dancing with Brood’s fiancée in front of everyone. When Thugar asked to cut in for the next dance, Ware Tin’Vori made his second mistake. He confused the Brood heir for someone with a sense of humor. The boy kept dancing with the girl. He claimed that it was a sin to stop in the middle of a song. A normal person would have laughed. Because it was a joke. But Thugar Brood? That is a man who brooks no trespasses. He vowed—then and there—that he would bury Ware Tin’Vori in his family garden. The famous threat was heard by everyone in that ballroom: ‘I will plant you in the ground.’ ”
The crone waved a hand, jewels dancing farther down her wrist.
“Everyone thought they were empty words. Tall talk. After all, House Tin’Vori was a bosom-mate to House Shiverian then. One of the few houses that the Broods would not risk opposing. But there was the rub. No one knew the Shiverians had been eyeing the Tin’Voris’ holdings for years. Thugar’s anger was an invitation to act on that greed. A raid between the Shiverians and Broods was arranged in secret. Ware Tin’Vori was sketching down by the river when Thugar found him. The boy begged for his life as he was dragged through the Lower Quarter. No one intervened. They threw him in the back of the carriage and took him up to the old Brood estate. The two dueled. It was a long fight, but only because Brood made it a long fight. He broke that poor boy. Slowly. Then he did what he’d promised to do.”
Now the woman looked down the length of the table before glancing back at Ren. For a moment, she narrowed her eyes, and Ren wondered if she’d finally realized that she wasn’t speaking with the person she thought she was. Instead, she simply lowered her voice.
“Have you ever been to the Brood estate, dear?”
Ren nodded. “Once.”
Landwin had invited her for a single family gathering. She’d been allowed on a small tour of the high-walled estate that was northwest of the city. Theo had delighted in telling her stories about his childhood. All Ren could see, though, as she walked from villa to villa was what she was truly up against. All of that wealth. All of those guards. An impenetrable fortress that had stood against its enemies for centuries.
“There’s a tree with a black trunk. Bloodred leaves. Did you see it?”
Ren nodded again. Near the very heart of the estate. She remembered how Theo had fallen quiet there. He offered no anecdotes about that place. As they passed, Thugar had stopped in front of the tree while the rest of them continued through the gardens. Landwin Brood, who rarely displayed his emotions openly, had looked back at his older son with distaste. Ren hadn’t understood the subtle expressions on the faces of the rest of the family that day. Thugar had bent a knee, his head briefly bowed. Ren had assumed he was praying. Now she had the real answer.
“That is the tree that grew, fed by Ware Tin’Vori’s body. Only Thugar visits it. The gardeners aren’t even allowed to prune the leaves. No one has properly mourned the boy.”
Ren was surprised. “The family didn’t ask for his remains to be returned?”
The old woman scoffed. “Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said, Isabelle? The raid was that night. The Tin’Vori estate was overrun in an hour. A single boat made it out to sea. It was believed that the other three children—and their parents—were on board. The Shiverians torched and sank the vessel. Everyone watched as boats circled the blaze. There were no survivors.”
She swirled her wine again and accidentally sloshed some onto the table. It was a pause for dramatic effect. Ren didn’t know the old crone’s name, but she was a rather masterful gossip.
“At least that’s what everyone believed. Until Dahvid Tin’Vori was spotted in Ravinia last week. Rumor is that he fights in the gladiator pits. I’ve no doubt the Broods will send their spies. Confirm whether or not it’s really him. He’s rather distinctive, though. Hard to miss.”
“And why is that?”
“He’s an image-bearer.”
